


Not Exactly as Planned

by arainbowpenguin



Category: Sherlock - Fandom, Sherlock BBC
Genre: 100 percent fluff, M/M, small fuzzy animals, well a little sad but mostly fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-20
Updated: 2013-05-20
Packaged: 2017-12-12 09:48:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/810200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arainbowpenguin/pseuds/arainbowpenguin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock's in a bad way, and John's afraid he's going to die if he doesn't do something. However, when he implements his cure, things don't go exactly as planned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Exactly as Planned

Sherlock was spread across the couch, eyes half closed. To the casual observer, he could have looked asleep, but John knew better. He’d come back from the great hiatus seeming fine, but he’d fallen apart before John’s eyes. Now, all he seemed to do was sit around and drink the tea John made him. He didn’t even eat for John anymore.  
Frankly, John was terrified.  
Sherlock was dissolving, and John couldn’t do anything to stop it. He was dying, for god’s sake, and all John could do was sit in his chair, which he had moved across from the couch, and occasionally offer him things, which he consistently declined. John wasn’t about to figure out why he was like this, either. Sherlock wasn’t going to tell him. He’d tried. He’d tried everything. So he did the last thing he could think of. What a simple thing it was, really, but it was a last resort. He picked up his trusty little Mac and opened Google.  
“How to help someone with depression”  
The search brought up a little medical journal site, and John clicked it without a second thought. There was a talk about the causes of depression that John skimmed over, (he’s a damn doctor, he knows all this already) and finally there was a list of some things that help with depression. John scrolled down it with a heavy heart, as he saw everything that he’d tried already. Then, at the bottom, almost as a side note;  
“Often, getting a dog helps depressed individuals almost subconsciously.”  
John’s heart stopped. Yes. Yes, that’s exactly what he was looking for. So he went and searched again.  
“Dogs helping with depression”  
There were a few wonderful articles, one from a mother of a little girl who had severe depression, to the point of an attempted suicide. She’d brought a dog home, and in the year that they’d had it, the girl had made an almost complete turnaround and now she was a happy, healthy teenager. It filled John with a cold sort of hope. If this worked, it would solve everything. If it didn’t, things would take a steep dive down the toilet. But he had to try. He had to. So he closed down his laptop, not really caring to clear his history any more. He remembered when he had to do that every time he got up, even if it was just to get a drink. He looked at Sherlock, an arm hanging to the side, knuckles brushing the ground, hair greasy and unwashed. He wiped away the slight fuzz in his eyes and exited the room.  
~*~  
“I don’t know, dearie. Are you sure Sherlock would like a dog?”  
“Probably not.” John sighed.  
“But I’m willing to go through some yelling if it’ll help in the end.”  
Mrs. Hudson sighed, picking up the flannel she had been cleaning with before John had come in and beginning to scrub the counters again.  
“Look, I have nothing against you two getting a dog, but you have to take care of it. I’m not your housekeeper.”  
“Of course we would!”  
“And you know that means walking it, and feeding it, and…”  
“Yes, Mrs. Hudson. I planned to do all of that. I was just wondering if you had something against dogs.”  
“Nothing at all, my dear. Go ahead and get one, if that’s what you think will work.”  
John was suddenly overcome with affection for the elderly woman, and embraced her tightly.  
“Thank you, Mrs. Hudson.”  
“You’re welcome, John.” She patted his back.  
“You’ve got my blessing whenever you need one.”  
John looked at her, looked into her eyes, and saw that she wanted Sherlock back just as much as he did. Possibly even more. She considered Sherlock her son, and her heart was just as broken as John’s to see him wasting away like this. He smiled slightly and headed to the door, adjusting his jacket and patting his pocket to make sure he had his keys.  
“Are you going to get one now?”  
“No, I need to get ready first. I was just going to run by the pet store and get some books.”  
“All right, you run along and do that, dearie. I’ll be right here if you need anything.”  
He nodded at her, and then slipped out the door. It wasn’t too late, but it wasn’t early either. It made him just slightly more cautious then he was usually. He’d been around Sherlock Holmes long enough to know what to expect.  
But there were a few things even being around Sherlock Holmes couldn’t train him to expect.  
Such as a man, wrapped in a shabby old coat, with several squirmy puppies on his lap. Their eyes were still squinty and small, and their squeals could barely be heard. They didn’t look old enough to be away from their mother. One of them caught his eye, however. It was a teeny little thing, ears still folded over. It was pale, almost the same color as his old cream cable-knit that Sherlock had tried to destroy on several occasions but never quite succeeded. It was also barely moving. It seemed to John as if he was in a trance, not quite in control of his actions, because before he knew it, he had crossed the street and he was kneeling by the man. He looked up hopefully.  
“You looking to take one of them?”  
“Maybe. How much are you asking?”  
“Hundred and fifty.”  
John dropped his head.  
“Look, I have fifty pounds on me. Give me the one that won’t last the night.”  
The man considered it for a moment, and then carefully lifted up the small ball of peach fuzz.  
“All right. Take real good care of her, won’t you?”  
John, who had been busy fishing the bills out of his wallet, looked up in surprise.  
“It’s a girl?”  
“Yeah. That’s not a problem, is it?”  
“No, not at all.” He offered the money, and received the dog in exchange. She was so small and fragile. John quickly tucked him into his jacket.  
“Does she have a name?”  
“Nope. Go ahead and let your wife name her.”  
John faltered for a second at that, and then smiled.  
“Of course. Have a… good rest of the night, I suppose.”  
“Same to you, fellow.”  
They parted ways, and John snuck a peek into his coat at the small body nestled against his chest. He could barely believe it. He had a baby. In his coat. Maybe it wasn’t a conventional baby, but if you had her in your jacket, you would think of her as a baby too. Luckily, he wasn’t very far away from home, so he cradled it and stepped quickly.  
“John? You’re back already? I didn’t expect you to be so fast…”  
“Things… didn’t go exactly as planned, Mrs. Hudson.”  
He gently pried the squeaking thing out of the soft fuzz of his jacket. Mrs. Hudson froze, having just come into the room.  
“John… is that…”  
“Yes. Can you grab me a towel or two? Please?”  
“Of course!” And she hurried off, arms up in that extremely Mrs. Hudson fashion. He sat down at the supper table, crooning gently at the squirmy girl, which caused Sherlock to raise his head slightly.  
“What’ve you got there?”  
“It’s a puppy, Sherlock. She’s tiny… I’m quite sure she shouldn’t be away from her mum.”  
For the first time in a long time, Sherlock seemed interested. He actually sat up and, to John’s utter surprise, stood and walked to the table. On his own power. He peered over John’s shoulder at the small thing, curious again.  
“It looks to be approximately three weeks old.”  
“She.” John corrected, absent-mindedly.  
“Look, could you heat up some milk in a saucepan? I suppose it might work to feed her…”  
Sherlock nodded and swept off towards the kitchen, like a ghost. Mrs. Hudson had come back with the towels then, and John gently wrapped his new baby girl in them.  
“Mrs. Hudson, could you help Sherlock with the milk? I’m worried that he might…”  
“Of course, dearie.”  
And she bustled off. John stroked the small thing gently, cleaning its eyes and comforting it. She whimpered slightly and tried to suck on John’s finger. It occurred to him that he’d need a bottle, and he swore softly. He was woefully unprepared for anything, and now he had a baby to take care of.  
“What’s wrong?”  
He hadn’t noticed Sherlock behind him.  
“I just… I need a bottle or an eyedropper or SOMETHING. I mean, she can’t just drink out of a cup, can she?”  
“Bottle… Wait here.”  
And Sherlock ran (which was more like a speedwalk in the state he was in) into his bedroom. He came out a few seconds later with a baby bottle. Apart from being a little dusty, it looked brand new.  
“Why on earth do you have a bottle?”  
“Just in case.”  
He passed by John and into the kitchen, where a muted talk ensued. John stroked his girl as Sherlock made a bottle in the other room. Luckily, when the brunet came back and the bottle was offered to the squirming puppy, it was not rejected.  
“Does it… she have a name?” Sherlock had been watching her eat for the past five minutes.  
“No. I think you should name her.”  
“I’m not good at that.”  
“How do you know? You’ve never tried.”  
Sherlock paused at that.  
“Good point. I’ll think about it.”  
John scratched at her head, and she broke away from nursing for long enough to mewl softly.  
“Don’t take forever in naming her, though. We can’t just call her Puppy forever.”  
“Hush. I know.”  
She was beginning to fill up now, her once-frantic suckling dying down. John let her eat until the bottle was almost empty and her tiny belly was swollen and happy. That was when Sherlock finally reached out and touched her, slim fingers touching the soft fuzz of her fur. He cautiously stroked her, and then John took the step he could not.  
"Do you want to hold her? You can, you know."  
"Erm, yes..."  
Go ahead and pick her up. Just be gentle."  
And gentle he was. She looked even teenier then she was, cradled in Sherlock's large hands. He held her against his chest, unconsciously rocking back and forth. He still had that grimy old dressing gown on, the same one he had been wearing for the past week or so.  
"Sherlock... Would you like me to run the bath for you?"  
Before the dog, he would have gotten a disinterested "no". Now, Sherlock looked up and smiled.  
"That would be... Appreciated. Thank you."  
John got up and headed to the bathroom. Once safely inside, he allowed himself a "oh god thank you" and began running the bath water. Before long, a sufficient coat of steam was covering everything, and John called Sherlock in. He was still carrying the puppy when he poked his head in the door. John took her as Sherlock dropped his robe on the floor, and then looked quizzically over his shoulder.  
"Aren't you going to leave..?"  
"I'm going to help you." Said John, firmly.  
"Why? And what about the dog?"  
"I'll put her in my coat, on the floor. And I'm going to help you because I'm worried about you, Sherlock. I don't want you to drown."  
"That's not a good reason." He whined, but proceeded to disrobe anyways. John felt oddly uncomfortable with looking at his flatmate's body so close. He'd seen it before, of course, but he really was an attractive man, as grimy and pungent as he was. As Sherlock settled in, water up to his neck, John removed his coat and arranged it into an impromptu little nest for the girl. She seemed happy with her new bed. Sleepy puppies are happy with everything, really. And then, almost as an afterthought, he removed his shirt as well as his socks and shoes. You don’t usually want to be fully clothed when you're bathing someone. When John sat up to tend to Sherlock, he ran his ghostly fingers over John's gunshot scar. Even that light touch provoked a shiver.  
"I've never really seen it. It's almost beautiful."  
"I suppose it is." John poured a handful of water into Sherlock's already-damp curls.  
"Dunk your head now, I need to wash your hair."  
Sherlock did as asked, and John was very careful not to get shampoo in his eyes. He'd given Harry a few baths when she was little, so he wasn't a stranger to this. It was actually rather enjoyable. Sherlock's hair was very fine and soft, even when it hadn't been washed for a week. Sherlock almost fell asleep twice, and John silently congratulated himself on the choice to stay with his friend. It was the right one. Once Sherlock was thoroughly clean, (John washed his hair twice) he was bundled up in a towel and escorted onto the couch to dry. John then went and retrieved the dog, who had been asleep the whole time. He deposited her on Sherlock’s lap, which bothered neither the dog nor the detective, and promptly hurried up into his room to find a proper bed for her. All he could produce was a shoebox, but she was so small it would work until he could buy a suitable replacement. He lined it with a few towels, and admired his handiwork. Not bad for the extremely short notice. However, when he came back downstairs, Sherlock had the dog on his stomach, and they both looked so sleepy and happy and content that it would have been demonic to disturb them. So he just plopped himself down in his chair and picked up a magazine. Sherlock had been watching the dog sleep, shadowed eyes blinking occasionally. It was the first time in months that John felt safe enough to leave him alone. The dog had awoken something inside him already, and it was amazing. It was going to take a while for things to get back to normal, however. John was prepared for that. It came as a bit of a shock when he spoke.  
“Grace.”  
“Hm?”  
“We should name her Grace.”  
John considered it for a moment, and then he smiled.  
“Grace. It’s perfect.”  
Not only because of the grace the little thing had, its floppy ears and jellybean nose tucked into the blanket, but because of the grace it had restored in Sherlock.  
John slept downstairs that night, in Sherlock's bed. He couldn't be bothered to move off the couch, so John left him there. Baby steps. He woke up early to take Gracey to the vet, when Sherlock was still sleeping. She was very worried about such a little puppy being away from her mother, but she assured him that they were doing the right thing. She gave him a special puppy formula that would be much better for the girl then cow’s milk, and then he went on his way. He did drop by the pet store and get a bed for her, and a few chew toys as well. She’d nibbled on him already, and her teeth were wicked- sharp. She needed other things to chew on besides his hand. When John got home, Sherlock was awake, although barely. When he took Grace back from John, and smiled the widest John had seen in a long time, he knew everything was going to be okay.

 

~*~

John blinked a few times as he adjusted to the pale light streaming through the curtains. There were two bodies in bed with him, instead of the usual one. Sometime in the night, Grace had gotten cold and climbed up in between Sherlock and him. She was getting old. Actually, they were all getting on in years, but Grace was showing them. Her already pale muzzle was turning white, and she was starting to get a bit hard of hearing. Ten years they’d been a family. John could hardly believe it. They’d seen so much together. He dreaded the day when her age caught up with her, but it wasn’t going to happen for a while. So he made a conscious effort to spend a lot of time with her, whether it was going to the park and chasing a Frisbee to curling up in front of the fireplace with a good book. They really could have become parents, if they had chosen to. But Grace was enough. He looked over at Sherlock. His hair was starting to fade a bit, and the lines on his face were deeper than ever.  
He was still gorgeous.  
Everything was okay. So John smiled, snuggling in a little closer to his family, and let himself fall back asleep. Nothing important was happening. In a couple hours, Grace would wake him up with an indignant snuffling for her morning walk, and when he came back inside, Sherlock would be up, and John would kiss his forehead and smile. But he could afford a little more sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! :D If you see any typos or grammar mistakes, they are my own. It hasn't been betaed, so if you see anything, it'd be appreciated if you'd tell me. (I already caught one and there's probably more oops)  
> (critiques and comments are love)  
> (I just really love dogs you guys especially puppies ahh)


End file.
